Bullseye
by I'm a Tiny Bronco
Summary: A series of one-shot, standalone stories of Oliver Queen's crusade as "The Hood."
1. The Couch

Oliver was lying stiff on the couch in the massive living room of the Queen Mansion. He flipped channels, wondering why he never thought before about how strange television was. He'd never watched television when he was stranded on the island, or during his exploits in Hong Kong or Russia, and when he finally returned home to Starling City, his interest in TV was exclusively the local news channel. Maybe, just once or twice, a basketball game, but he preferred to see those live. Something about sitting comfortably alone while watching others run, jump, smile, and yell at each other... was odd.

It felt good though. Too good. One hour became two, two became three, and half an hour after that he got up and hobbled to the kitchen for a snack. Home for the first time (that anyone knew about) in 5 years, Oliver still lived a life of extreme discipline, every indulgence of food and drink in the public eye carefully measured. He returned to the couch with a bowl of potato chips and a small bottle of pain medicine, feeling like a loser.

"You should watch Mirth," said his sister Thea, who had leaned into the edge of the room, "it's really awesome." Oliver turned his head and glared at her. Three episodes later, Oliver did think Mirth was awesome, even if it was implausible in every way. For a second he almost forgot that the secret basement below the nightclub he owned was filled with weapons, gadgets, and a suit he wore to punch people in the face. Sinking deeper and deeper into the couch, Oliver wondered if he should ever go back there.

Oliver was an archer. A hunter. A vigilante. "The Hood," the newspapers called him. He had finally met his match in the Dark Archer, a rival bowman far tougher than gun-toting street thugs and bank robbers. The Hood's battle with the masked villain had left two arrow-sized holes in Oliver's back and a whole ton of bruises on his face, torso, and legs, slowly healing as Oliver ate his first potato chip in 5 years. It felt good... but he started sweating grease instantly. He could feel it on his face. He might have been some billionaire playboy before the island, getting driven around, spending, and drinking the night away, waking up to lazy days like this... but now that wasn't enough to keep him occupied. No, civilian life was not for him. Mirth was fun for a little bit, but it paled in comparison to the gravity of his own life. The city needed saving. The city needed The Hood. With great effort, Oliver stood up and turned off the TV.


	2. Big Belly: The Hot Saucy Mixtape

Three years earlier the unknown Starling City rap artist, MC Big Belly, had dropped a mixtape filled with dope raps about cheeseburgers. When the fast food joint from which the rapper took his name, Big Belly Burger, found out about it, they immediately formed a record label and signed him. His first album came out, his commercials for Big Belly Burger were charmingly shameless, and he was set to be in a big movie coming out next year. Everything was going great for Big Belly. Until he started trafficking guns and drugs into The Glades.

Clad in green leather and green eye makeup, The Hood roared his motorbike through the empty streets of The Glades, passing warehouses, dumpsters, shrieking alleycats, homeless men gathered around a trash fire. The night air was cool and damp from a fresh rainfall. Every third streetlamp was dead or busted. "You don't have to do this, man," the voice of The Hood's partner, John Diggle, crackled in the Hood's earpiece as he rounded a corner. Diggle was a massive, well-spoken former Special Forces Operative who liked to listen to Big Belly during workouts. The Hood knew Diggle was joking, but he also didn't like being disagreed with.

"Big Belly has wounded two civilians with his activity. Do you want to wait until he graduates?" asked The Hood. The truth was, Hood had liked Big Belly too, before all did Big Belly have to pick the Glades? Why reward the people he grew up with, who had bought his first mixtape, with more guns and crime? The Hood pulled up outside the warehouse Big Belly had rented under his great-aunt's name. One of Big Belly's "soldiers" was outside, video taping Hood as he approached. Hood left the young man unconscious on the sidewalk and crushed the phone under his boot. Hood stared up at the warehouse, hesitating.

A rap artist and his friends didn't deserve to die, but the harder Big Belly wanted to play, the worse The Hood would have to be. If anything, Hood's sympathy was making him underestimate the enemy. He should have spent more time casing the warehouse, entered from the roof. Too late now, but not a mistake Hood planned to repeat. Hood found a broken window and disappeared inside.

The warehouse was dark and empty except at the center. Big Belly sat in a circle with seven friends on folding chairs under a single burning lightbulb, smoking and talking. A couple open crates were behind them, spilling over with AK-47 rifles. Big Belly's illegal gun trade sure lacked the imagination that was on his first album. The Hood crept closer toward the light, tried to figure if this would really be so easy. Hood had a total of 12 tranq darts latched into the suit at his wrists and ankles. Even if he missed- and he never did- The Hood had plenty enough to dispatch so few.

"When he shows up I want you to snap a pic of me blowing his head off," said Big Belly, picking up his pistol off the floor and cocking it lazily. Big Belly was big and fat and baby-faced, wrapped up in oversized jeans and an oversized black jacket, black hat with a wide bill, black shoes with bright green laces. Hes friends were a bit more fit, big, similar clothes.

"The Green Arrow won't come quietly," said the man at Big Belly's left, "we might need a better plan than sitting in a ring like chumps."

"Terry," whined Big Belly, "I told you to stop calling him Green Arrow! His name is The Hood!"

"He's gotta drop that hood name, it ain't flashy enough," said Terry, "That's like being a rapper and calling yourself 'George.'"

"Whad'you know about being a rapper!?" Big Belly yelled.

"What do you know about being The Hood," asked The Hood, and he stepped into the light. The first two henchmen to stand up couldn't raise their weapons high enough to aim right, the darts in their chests already pumping the tranquilizers through their veins. The two nearest to the Hood got their heads smashed together before they could get out of their seats. The Hood knocked a gun out of his face and put a boot between the assailant's legs. The Hood put an arrow in the crumpled man's shoulder as Terry and another man ran for it. That just left Big Belly, his loose pants shaking around his thighs, his gun dropped, his hands raised. Hood set a new arrow in his bow and pulled the arrow backward, just below his eyes, ready to loose right into Big Belly.

"Strange," said The Hood, "I still have my head."

"I was just joking," said Big Belly, "about all that."

"I guess it is funny, now," The Hood admitted.

"Imma run for it," said Big Belly, and he whipped around and heaved his big legs, making it maybe four steps before he bent over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. "Gotta cut back on those cheeseburgers," Big Belly whispered. The Hood tried not to laugh as he put an arrow in Big Belly's left butt-cheek. And then his right butt-cheek. It ahd to be as humiliating as possible, so he didn't get street cred for going to jail. Big Belly hit the ground hard. "Owwww!" cried Big Belly, "Owwiee!"

"If I see you doing this again," said The Hood, choking on his laughter, "I'll kill you." The Hood radioed the police in through his private cell, layered with codes and changing data patterns to make him impossible to find. He'd have to break the phone into a dumpster soon anyway. It would be up to the SCPD to take care of the guns, they had more manpower and, well, the law on their side. The Hood left Big Belly sobbing in the middle of the room. When Hood got outside, he found his bike had been stolen.


End file.
